


Muscle Memory

by Lavellington



Series: Home is so sad (221b drabbles) [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221 b drabbles, 221B Ficlet, Gen, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Sherlock has feeeelings, obligatory angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:06:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavellington/pseuds/Lavellington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembered his home with his body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muscle Memory

**Author's Note:**

> I may be a little late to the party, but I decided to try my hand at the 221b drabble format. This is the first in the series, from Sherlock's POV. Post Reichenbach, so mildly angsty and quite nostalgic. Also, I've tagged this as Sherlock/John even though there's no slash to speak of, because their epic love haunts my every waking moment. You guys know.

Sherlock was usually a very visual thinker, but he didn’t remember Baker Street in pictures. He remembered it in movements; climbing the seventeen steps that took him to their door. He remembered the way he fit into its dimensions. He could navigate their flat in the dark without a stumble, could even make a cup of tea without turning the lights on. He remembered in his bones and his muscles the precise geometry of his arm stretching to open a cupboard, or the inward push-pull motion required to open his stiff bedroom window. If he stood now in his poky bedsit, closed his eyes and reached his hand out, Baker Street fell into place around him. 

He remembered other things, of course- sights and smells and sounds. Mrs Hudson humming Shirley Bassey when she was cleaning, or John burning his toast in the morning. But there was a subtle persistence in the memory of a familiar movement, often and thoughtlessly repeated- reaching, opening, closing, lifting- the mechanics of home.

He remembered John like he remembered Baker Street- a presence that had been built around him, always within reaching distance. John was constant and solid and easy, like sitting down at the breakfast table, or climbing into bed in the dark. John was muscle memory.

He remembered his home with his body.


End file.
